


Headache of the Day

by JazzRaft



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 04:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17718449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: Nyx knew it was going to be a bad day the second he woke up in the morning. When he sees the gun in the crowd of the King's public forum, he wishes he just stayed in bed. More so when he's tasked with protecting the Prince.





	Headache of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Another catch-up prompt, filled over on [tumblr](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/182688185017/hello-firstly-i-would-like-to-thank-you-for)!

It was one of _those_ days.

The kind of day where Nyx just knew, the second he opened his eyes in the morning, that it was _not_ going to be a good day.

It wasn’t some innate, instinctual magic that warned him about the yet-to-be-discovered trial that he was doomed for. (Gods, if he were clairvoyant, he’d be making better money as a street-side spiritualist over in Altissia, rather than sticking around Insomnia to be mauled by daemons for less than minimum wage.) No, it – sadly – wasn’t some telepathic talent that gave him the heads-up.

It was the headache.

People often said that it was the morning which defined the tone of the day – matched up with that whole “waking up on the wrong side of the bed” saying. Well, there was only one side to his bed – being smashed against the wall as it was – and it was usually a good side to get up on.

The headache, though, took no sides. Before he’d even opened his eyes, he felt it throbbing behind his skull, beating unkindly between the rhythmic pulses of his alarm clock. It threw a wrench in his morning routine, hindering his work-out, souring his breakfast, and persuading him to take the bus to work instead of going for his daily jog.

The painkillers kicked in halfway through the commute, but they left him feeling unfocused. _Off_. Only slightly, but enough to annoy him – and to remind him that the effects were only temporary. By late afternoon the headache would be back, and make his hard job of scanning the assembled crowd for danger even harder.

He was expecting trouble; public forums, in spite of the good intentions behind holding them, always gambled with inviting in as many royal dissenters as they did supporters. If the Crown wanted to gauge public opinion with first-hand accounts from Insomnia citizens… well, nothing gave a clearer message quite like a guy waving a gun at the royal family.

Crowe was the one who took the guy down, weaving between the panicked bodies of the forum like a zig-zagging whiplash of warp-sparks and thunder magic.

The Crownsguard covered the King, the Kingsglaive covered the Prince. It was a race through routine and shouts about safety measures all through the Citadel after that. Nyx locked into protection mode, hauling the Crown Prince to the designated panic room while the Glaive apprehended the suspect and controlled the alarmed crowd. The Prince was passed off to his care. He could take it from there.

Lefts and rights, down stairs, and twisting through hallways, tapping his earpiece for confirmations along the way, and they were locked safely in the hidden room until the commotion calmed down. Once the doors were sealed, and Nyx was ready to pat himself on the back for a job well done until he got the all clear to go back out, Prince Noctis made his bad day even worse.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

Nyx blinked. Once, twice. The adrenaline rush pitched down into a sobering buzz, enough for him to take a deep breath and take stock. The panic room was well-furnished, replete with devices for distraction – game consoles, TV, charging docks – a full refrigerator, plenty of household comforts to ease a panicked prince.

But said prince was far from a quivering, traumatized mess sniveling at Nyx’s feet. Said prince was, in fact, seething with anger, fists shaking at his sides and teeth clenched in an ivory sneer as he glared straight at his protector. Nyx was really feeling the gratitude.

It occurred to him then that… this was the first time he’d ever actually been the one to guard the prince during a crisis. In fact, he thought this might be the first time he’d ever exchanged more than one word with him. Or made direct eye contact for more than a full second.

Of course, he knew the Prince. He saw him almost every day when he was condemned to guard duty within the Citadel. Everyone in the King’s employ knew his son. They had to; that was part of the job description. But few actually _knew_ him, ever actually spoke with him. And Nyx himself was so frequently transitioned from long months outside the wall, to inside the wall, that every time he caught a glance of the Prince, he was someone different.

One day, he was a skinny thirteen-year-old, sullenly kicking a soccer ball down the hall. The next, he was sixteen and self-conscious about acne scars in the drawing room mirror.

Now, he was almost twenty, grown into his fine, tailored suit, disheveled from the rush away from danger, with a glare like cut diamonds, sharp as the clamp of his teeth. Magic shivered above his knuckles, a ferocity in the even cut of his shoulders that Nyx immediately responded to with a stiffening of his own spine.

“I was thinking that I’m following protocol, Your Highness,” he said, evenly. “You know the drill.”

“Yeah, for when I was twelve!” Noctis bellowed. “Why do I have to keep hiding away like this? I could help!”

“That’s not your job, Highness.”

“Then what’s the point of letting me have this?” Noctis called one of the blades from his armiger to his hand. Just for a second, to punctuate his point, before dispelling it back to its realm of indigo power. “Why bother training me to fight if none of you will _let me_?”

“I don’t know, kid,” Nyx sighed, the day catching up with him.

He regretted letting it immediately. Because being referred to as a “kid” only seemed to make Noctis angrier. His eyes shined, hot blue, and he loomed towards Nyx as if he was going to punch him.

Instead, he growled, pivoted away from Nyx to slam onto the couch, and spat under his breath, “Bite me.”

Nyx grit his teeth and said nothing, stationing himself at the door to await further instructions. Noctis pretended he didn’t exist for the rest of their short time stuck in the room. Which was just as well.

Nyx’s headache was back.

* * *

Two days later and life in the Citadel moved on. Anti-royalist dissenters sneaking weapons into Citadel events was not an uncommon occurrence, unfortunately. The more the Empire spread across Lucis, the harder it was becoming for security to keep every threat from slipping through the cracks – there were more and more every day, it seemed.

The gunman was arrested, interrogated by the Captain to ensure he was a lone wolf and not part of a larger plot, and then promptly imprisoned. Crowe was commended for her quick thinking, they all got drinks on the house, and toasted to a job well done. The King made his televised statement – in the safety of his own office – the next day to calm the public’s distress.

No one was hurt.

Thank the gods.

The only pain anyone went through was Nyx with his headache, babysitting a prince with a chip on his shoulder.

Yup, he knew it was going to be a bad day. At least none of it had caught him off guard. The next day was better – no headache in the morning for one. He spent it normalizing himself after the hectic day prior, triple checking his routine circuit around the Citadel in the event of follow up attacks. The day after that was even better than the days before.

Because everything was back to normal. Boring, but he’d take it over dangerous, any day. He had a few more days stuck on guard rotation, but Nyx told himself to take advantage of the mundanity of it all to get his head back in order.

It was a good thing that he did. Because when he ran into the Crown Prince on his march around the top-most tower, he wanted to have his wits about him.

He stayed professional, glanced briefly at him, as always, muttered the obligatory, “Your Highness” with the equally obligatory bow of his head. He didn’t break from his slow stride, didn’t let his eyes linger, and moved on. Until the subdued, “Um,” summoned him to a stop. Nyx paused, braced himself for a confrontation, and turned back to the Prince.

And just like all the times he’d seen him before, it was like he was looking at yet another different person. Still twenty this time – no three year gaps – but a much different picture than the black fury which darkened Nyx’s day earlier in the week.

Noctis was in his favorite fatigues, casual and comfortable, looking like he was on his way to training, perhaps. His hands were loose at his sides, though his fingers were twitching like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He was trying to make eye contact with Nyx, but kept glancing down at his shoes like he was afraid to look right at him. His shoulders were slumped, features soft from the taut rage which sharpened them the last time Nyx saw him.

“Hey, um,” Noctis started, his voice a quiet, faltering purr. “You were the glaive from the panic room the other day, right?”

_Real flattered to have left an impression,_ Nyx thought, sourly. But he put on a neutral smile and nodded. “Yeah, that was me. Nyx Ulric, always at your service, Highness.”

Noctis scrutinized him for a moment, nibbling on his lower lip. “I, uh… I’m glad I ran into you. I, um… wanted to apologize. For how I acted. I was…” He made a gesture around his head to try and physically embody the feeling of insanity. “I was worried, and freaked out, and it felt like I was running away when people might have been in trouble, and… Anyway, I was a jerk. I’m sorry.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets – finally found a place to put them – and stared down at the floor, shoulders sloped to his ears; the picture of penitence. Nyx was surprised. First impressions were supposed to go a long way towards getting to know someone, and the Noctis he first met in the panic room was not the Noctis he expected to run into now.

Maybe they’d both been having a bad day. Maybe Nyx had dismissed his rage too quickly. Maybe the painkillers made him a little too impatient, too short with him. And maybe Noctis had been in shock, responding to danger with a fight-first instinct, then having nowhere to put that energy once Nyx closed him into a confined space.

Maybe neither of them had been at their best that day.

“It’s alright, kid – I mean, Your Highness.”

Instead of spitting at his feet for the fumble this time, Noctis just smiled, sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Like he was just as embarrassed by his outburst as Nyx was by calling him “kid.” He glanced up at Nyx again, through the veil of his messy black hair.

“Um, I hope this isn’t too awkward to ask, but I want to make it up to you. Maybe prove that I’m not always that much of a dick. Do you like coffee?”

Nyx considered the ramifications of letting his boss’s son buy him coffee – there were probably a great many few – but the prince’s nervous stare was so genuine and endearing that Nyx couldn’t find it in him to say “no.”

“Sure,” he relented. “Just no biting my head off in public, got it?”

Noctis chuckled, “Got it. Promise I won’t bite.”


End file.
